


Touch Too Much

by Charlatron



Series: Inside The Fire [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Male-Female Friendship, Smut, Starkhaven Circle (Dragon Age), Surprise feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23232577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlatron/pseuds/Charlatron
Summary: Aila wasn't a happy person. Having been raised in an orphanage, she'd traded one prison for another when her magic manifested. She'd immediately shown an aptitude for fire magic and had a fiery temperament to match. The templars tried their best to extinguish that fire and were largely successful... at least until the new guy arrived.Rylen wasn't like the others. He was genuine, patient and compassionate. After eight years under the same roof, she even came to think of him as a friend, if such a thing were even possible. But despite this cherished friendship, the circle was still a place of horror... and she was just about ready to do anything to break free.~A short journey from oblivious friends to lovers to strangers and back again - cause the fandom needed more Rylen smut.
Relationships: Rylen (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Inside The Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975663
Comments: 16
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very brief mention of past suicide attempt, which is not described in any great detail.

**9.31 Dragon**

Their plan was far beyond the stages of discussion, the details decided and agreed upon. Casualties would be kept to a minimum, or so the first enchanter claimed, but Aila wasn't so naïve as to think that were actually true. It was inconsequential. She needed to be free of this prison and it's sadistic jailers before she was inevitably pushed into the welcoming arms of the demons that plagued her dreams. But one question lingered in the back of her mind, whispered repeatedly as though planted there by some dastardly spirit of compassion.

_What about Rylen?_

She shouldn't care about a templar, but he wasn't like the others. Kindness came so easily to him, it radiated from him like some innocuous contagion, affecting everybody he came in to contact with. And he was _funny_ , always ready with a joke to lighten the mood. No one could make her laugh like Rylen did. She was sixteen when he'd joined Starkhaven's Circle, and just days away from her harrowing. The years before his arrival had been horrific, at best. She'd suffered abuses she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy, but when he rode in like a white knight on a shinning stead those horrors lessened to a degree. She still remembered those dark days though, and so didn't really care if a few templars happened to perish.

_But, what about Rylen?_

“Stop!” She loudly reprimanded herself, startling a nearby apprentice and earning a loud _shush_ from the ageing librarian. She cast a dirty look at the woman then packed up her things and fled the scene.

…

_That sounded like Aila_ Rylen thought to himself. _What has that girl gone and done now?_ She'd always had a knack for getting herself into trouble but, despite this, he still had a bit of a soft spot for her. He'd already been headed towards the library on his regular patrol, but on hearing her raised voice he picked up his pace. He was just about to reach for the handle when the door flung open and she crashed into him.

“Shit!” she irritably cursed, having dropped her various tomes, “why don't you watch where you're going, tin skir – Rylen!”

“Aye, lucky for you.” He chuckled, squatting down to help gather her books. “Why the rush?”

“I... have to be somewhere.” She shiftily replied, staunchly avoiding eye contact.

“You're a terrible liar, lass.” He offered her the book he'd collected as they stood, though chose not to release it when her fingers wrapped around the spine. “What're you up to, Aila?”

“Nothing!” she protested, voice suspiciously high pitched and hardly convincing, “can I have my book now please?”

He looked down his nose with a suspicious squint of his eye as she continued trying to wrestle it from his grasp, until he decided to let her off the hook and released his hold on it. She stumbled backwards having not been expecting it, and he flashed a toothy grin at her annoyed scowl.

“Can I go now?” To anyone else, she would appear enraged, but after eight years he knew her almost as well as he knew himself and could see the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth that told him she was suppressing a smirk. He bowed, extending an arm in her direction of travel, then watched her glide away – for a tad longer than he ought to.

There were only two years between them, but it had taken him a long time to see her as anything other than that frightened sixteen-year-old girl he'd first met. There was a certain level of trust between them, painstakingly earned over the course of their acquaintancy. They spoke often and at length about various matters, ranging from circle politics to their love lives. Her's was a friendship he cherished, he always knew where he stood with her – until one day last week when she threw the lips on him out of nowhere then scurried off without a word and had barely spoken to him since.

He was confused, to say the least. He'd never allowed himself to look at her _that_ way before, but ever since that kiss... It was as though he were seeing her for the very first time. Covetous long, blonde waves framing a heart-shaped face with eyes the colour of lyrium. She hadn't grown in height any since they'd first met, remaining about six inches shorter than he, but her body had changed. She'd been a skinny waif of a girl in her teens, then with the heralding of her twenties came those sinful curves: A tapered waist with wide flared hips and breasts that stretched taught the fabric of her bodices. He'd never seen her out of her robes, though it was easy to imagine a lovely, round bottom and delightfully thick thighs hidden beneath.

She was so much more than her looks, though. She was headstrong, passionate, kind – though perhaps not to his fellow templars – and frighteningly good at wielding a flame. It was fitting, really, what with the fiery temperament for which she was known. She'd come such a long way since that day he'd found her in their tiny Chantry, alone, lying in a pool of her own blood. But if not for that terrible incident, he may never have gotten to know her as well as he had, having taken it upon himself to keep a careful eye on her. She was blessedly now far from that self-harming youth, and he knew he didn't have to worry about that anymore.

She was, however, most definitely up to something.

…

“You all know the plan?” The first enchanters' question was met by a sea of nodding heads. “Good. Maker willing, we will all be free of this wretched place come sunrise.”

_What about Rylen?_

That damn voice again. Her conscience, she was beginning to realise, not some daft spirit. It hounded her as she distractedly strolled to her quarters. Things had admittedly been a bit weird between the two of them since she'd stupidly kissed him in a desperate attempt to keep him from discovering a secret meeting between herself and her fellow Libertarians, but she was still clearly bothered by the possibility that he could get hurt in the nights escape attempt.

The plan was to stick together, _strength in numbers_ the first enchanter had said, but she wasn't so clueless as to think a group of apostates wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb – so instead she was planning to slip away undetected amidst the chaos, and allow her fellow mages to think she'd perished.

_What about Rylen!_

“Fine!” she loudly relented, throwing her arms up in the air just as said man rounded the corner ahead of her.

“Done with whatever secret business you were up to earlier?” Rylen facetiously japed, coming to a halt just outside her door.

She rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation. “If I was, do you really think I'd tell you?”

“Ha! No, I suppose you wouldn't.” 

Aila allowed about three seconds of silence to pass before she began to feel uncomfortable and decided she needed to address the issue. “Listen, I think you and I should talk about what happened the other day.”

Rylen nodded, his easy smile faltering for just a moment. “Aye, I reckon you're right.”

“Not out here, though,” she added as the sounds of nearby chatter carried down the corridor, “in here.”

She entered her room, leaving the door open for him to follow.

“Right.” She heard him mumble to himself, before stepping over the threshold and hesitantly closing the door behind him.

“So... I kissed you the other day.” There really wasn't any way to sugar coat it. ”And that was very foolish of me.”

“Why did you?” He reluctantly asked, almost as though he didn't really want to know the answer.

“I -” She couldn't exactly tell him the truth. “Meant it as a friendly gesture?”

He tilted his head, rather comically resembling a confused mabari. “You don't sound so sure of that.”

She'd expected it to feel like she was kissing a cousin, and when it didn't she'd naturally locked the memory in a vault to stop herself from ruminating on what it could mean.

“Look, I'm flattered that you would think of me that way, and I can't, in all honesty, say that it wasn't enjoyable -”

He'd enjoyed the kiss?

“- but it can't happen again.” He scratched the back of his head, the heated blush on his cheeks a stark contrast to the dark tattoos on his face.

She looked him up and down, squinting suspiciously as she read his body language as easily as one might read a book. “Rylen, are you – are you attracted to me?”

She saw his blush intensify before he resolutely turned his back on her.

“For how long?” She quirked an eyebrow, oddly intrigued and frankly rather entertained by this rare display of nerves from the usually calm and collected templar.

He turned slightly, just enough that she entered his periphery, muttering a curse under his breath before turning away again – his lack of a response more telling than any confession.

She rubbed the back of her neck with both hands, struggling to wrap her head around this curious development. They'd been friends for almost eight years, she might have even called him her _best_ friend if he'd been a mage and not a templar... but she'd never considered that it might be more than that.

She stumbled backwards and sat herself on the corner of her bed, allowing herself a moment to ponder the idea of the two of them as more than just friends. He was handsome, no point denying that. Smouldering blue eyes and soft brown curls that ofttimes she found herself wanting to run her fingers through. He was well-built, too: tall and broad with large masculine hands and... _oh, fuck._

She stood back up and slowly walked towards him, waiting in silence as he turned to face her. Her gaze followed the lines of his tattoos, from his strong chin to his slightly hooked nose, before settling on the pale blue of his striking eyes. Her heart thudded traitorously within her chest. How had she been looking at that face every day without _truly_ seeing him?

She loudly swallowed. “Have you always...?”

“Maker, no! You were just a wee thing when we first met.” He shrugged. “I don't really think I _knew_ until that kiss the other day.”

“Knew what?” She dared to ask.

He stared unblinking for a few tense heartbeats before quietly responding, “that I could search every corner of Thedas ten times over and never find anyone like you.”

If anyone else had said that to her she would think they were taking the piss. She didn't have a great deal of self-confidence, but Rylen would never make fun of her like that. He wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean it.

“But we can't act on it.”

“Why not?” How could she be so desperate for something she'd only just this moment realised she wanted?

“I'm sworn to protect you, Aila – and others from you. I can't do that if my judgement's clouded.”

Well, what could she really say to that? The harsh reality was that he might very well cut her down if he knew what she and her fellow mages were planning.

“And yet...”

“And yet?” she eagerly prompted, cursing under her breath at her childish eagerness.

“And yet... I haven't stopped thinking about that kiss.” His eyes were fixed on her mouth. “And just how badly I'd like to do it again.”

Knowing she'd have to make the first move, she stepped right into his space, lifted herself on to her tiptoes and cautiously pressed her lips to his. He lifted a hand to her cheek, sliding it around the back of her head to fist in her hair as he moved his other from the small of her back down to her plump derriere. He moaned into her mouth as he squeezed her flesh, pulling her close as his grip in her hair tightened.

“No. Stop.” He closed his eyes, holding her at arm's length as he breathed slow and deep. “This is – I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage.”

“I don't,” she assured him, “you would never.”

He cupped her jaw and pressed his lips to her forehead, body taut with need. He was about to leave, she could tell, but it was too soon. This was likely the last time she'd ever see him. Come tomorrow she'd either be dead or long gone. She hadn't forgotten the plan or her role in it, a series of coordinated attacks to divide and conquer, but right then she couldn't find it in herself to even care. She needed him, just as surely as fire needing kindling to burn, and she wasn't going anywhere until she knew he would be safe.

“Can't we just forget who we are, if only for a night?” she asked, cutting him off before he could excuse himself.

“You mean...” He loudly swallowed, idly shaking his head from side to side, though making no move to deny her.

“Yes,” she all but whispered, fingers moving to the clasps of his armour.

Her nimble fingers worked slowly, allowing him the opportunity to refuse if he chose to, though thankfully he didn't. His gauntlets came off first, quickly followed by his vambraces, rerebraces, pouldrons then breastplate.

“We can't.” He feebly protested before instigating another kiss.

“Shh,” she shushed him with a finger against his lips, pulling his undershirt free of his waistband and pushing it up over his head. She had never seen his bare chest before. He was broad and firm, lightly bronzed skin sparsely dusted with dark hair. He was Maker sent.

“Aila, if we do this – there's no coming back from it.”

“My turn,” she replied, ignoring his warning as she turned away and pulled her long blonde waves over one shoulder to present him with the ties that held her bodice together.

She didn't rush him, allowing him the time he needed to decide if this was truly worth breaking his oath for. She quietly sighed in relief when she felt him begin to clumsily fumble with the ties at her back, eventually loosening them enough to pull her sleeves down. She turned to face him, working the fabric over her flared hips with a little difficulty until she stood before him in nothing but her underwear.

“You're beautiful.” He breathed in awe, drinking in the sight of her.

She'd never thought herself anything special, but the way he was regarding her right now, as though she were Andraste herself, she'd never felt more beautiful in all her life.

“Take that skirt off, will you,” she teased, giving his waistband an impatient _yank_.

“It's not a skirt,” he chided, not for the first time, before hooking a finger beneath her breast band, “but take this off and I will.”

She didn't love her breasts. They were big and heavy and her nipples were so pale it was sometimes hard to even see them when they were particularly soft – not that that was currently an issue. Right now they could cut glass.

She took a deep breath, reached behind her and unfastened the band. Without the closure the two ends snapped away from each other like a spring, protesting against the stretch to keep her contained. She covered herself with her arms as it fell to the floor, earning her a disapproving growl.

Rylen grasped her wrists and lightly tugged, though not enough to actually expose her. It was merely a show of encouragement. She swallowed hard, then allowed him to move her hands away, feeling a little better about herself at his whispered _perfect_ as he regarded her with a certain level of reverence. He pressed his hands to her, nipples nestled snugly in the centre of his palms, gently squeezing and lifting to feel their hefty weight.

Satisfied with his examination, he grasped her wrists again and guiding her arms around his neck as he pulled her flush against his chest.

“Skirt,” she reminded him between the increasingly heated kisses he was pressing to her lips.

Rylen quickly complied, shedding the remains of his armour. She expected him to stop at his smalls, but he whipped them straight off. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, his fat lengthy cock already hard and leaking.

His hands fell to her arse, then swept down the backs of her thighs as he lifted her off her feet.

“No!” Aila squealed in protest, “I'm too heavy.”

But Rylen bore her weight easily as he wrapped her legs around his waist, carrying her over to her bed and laying her down as though she weighed nothing at all. He pressed himself into the cradle of her thighs as he descended on her neck with tongue and teeth, kissing a path down over her collarbone to her chest before sucking a nipple into his mouth as he palmed the other.

Her head fell back, crown digging into the mattress as she squirmed beneath him, his hard cock resting heavily against her. She grasped his face, forcing him to meet her in a sloppy kiss before flipping him on to his back to sit astride his hips.

He smiled goofily up at her, dangerously lust drunk, but then his expression faltered. “You have done this before, right?”

She answered with a slow, deliberate grind of her hips.

“I'll take that as a aye.” He exhaled in a rush, pulling her down to kiss her breathless.

She'd never really been one to overthink poor decisions, but this was downright reckless. In just a few short hours she would be leaving this place for good – either of her own accord or on a cart piled high with the dead – and he would be left alone with nothing but regrets.

_What about Rylen?_

It was all happening so fast – not the plan, that had been in the works for months now, but whatever _this_ was. She'd only just realised what this unlikely friendship truly meant to her and here she was about to rush vagina first into a farewell fuck.

What was she doing?

She tore herself away from him and stepped off the bed in search of her clothes.

“Did I do something wrong?” he panicked.

She turned to look at him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, cock still standing proud between his muscular thighs. She shook her head, unable to respond verbally to that wounded look on his face.

He leaned forwards, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. “I'm sorry. I should never have allowed it to go this far.”

His disappointed tone fisted around her heart - because it was himself he was disappointed in, not her. She couldn't leave thinking he'd punish himself for this. She stepped towards him, hooking a finger beneath his chin to coerce him into looking at her.

“You did nothing wrong,” she whispered, caressing his stubbled cheek with her palm.

He brushed his knuckles against her lower thighs, carefully studying her reaction as he slowly moved them higher. When he reached her hips he slid his palms around to her arse, then given her lack of objection leaned forwards to press his lips to her soft stomach. He laved his tongue over the jagged silver lines on her hips, playfully nipping at her smalls in a bid to remove them. Her cunt pulsed with need, effectively disabling the logical part of her brain as she stepped back a fraction to bend over and drag them down her shapely legs.

His hand was back on her arse in an instant, pulling her close as he pressed his face between her heavy breasts and his other hand between her thighs. She sucked in a breath, biting her lip as his calloused fingers easily found her clit, slowly circling until her hips were moving of their own accord, hurtling her towards a very pleasant though not nearly satisfying enough climax. She squeezed her thighs together, trapping his fingers as she savoured the intense stimulation.

When her senses returned, she lifted a knee and placed it on the bed beside him, repeating the motion with her other until she was straddling him. She reached for him as he pulled her into a slow, sensual kiss, giving him a few tentative strokes before lifting herself into position. She took him into her, just the tip, before releasing her grip on his length. She grasped his shoulders for support, slowly lowering herself to the sounds of his ragged breaths until it was impossible to go any further.

Rylen cocooned her in his arms, hands wildly roaming her back before settling on her bottom, guiding her movements as she began to grind herself against him.

“You have no idea how many times I've imagined this moment since that kiss,” he spoke against her neck, grazing his teeth along the sensitive tendon there.

“Oh?” She panted.

“Oh, aye," he breathily confirmed, “I've spent every night since alone in my bed thinking of you.”

She involuntarily moaned at the thought of Rylen pleasuring himself to some depraved fantasy of her. “Tell me,” she urged, undulating a little faster.

Rylen ground his teeth together, nostrils flaring as he exhaled sharply through his nose. “I imagined you like this, taking my cock like you were made for it.”

“And how does the real thing compare?” she encouraged, nibbling on his earlobe.

“Fuck,” Rylen desperately cried, tilting his hips to seat himself deeper.

She gave a startled moan as he hit a sensitive spot within, pleasure bordering on pain. “What else?”

“Why don't I show you.” She clung to him as he stood, impressively bearing her weight, then turned around to press her back into the mattress.

His weight atop her was wonderful, caging her in with those delightfully strong arms, hiding her from the rest of the world as he began to slowly thrust, skilfully grinding against her at the end of each downward stroke.

Was this really happening? And was it really this good? She'd been with her fair share of mages, brief trysts in the dead of night just to _feel_ something, but none of it compared to this - being with him just felt so... _right_. How stupid she was, to have spent so much time in laughable obliviousness.

His lips found hers as he reduced the pull of his thrusts, remaining deeply seated as he focused on her pleasure, grinding perfectly against her pearl. She stretched her arms out above her head in ecstasy, breasts pressed so tightly to his sculpted chest that they barely moved.

“Aila, please tell me you're close.” He growled, as though pained.

“I am!” she cried out, louder than she ought to, “I'm so close.”

And as though magically induced by his words she was overcome by one of the most intense orgasms of her life. Her mind blanked as heat radiated from their joining all the way down to her toes, unable to focus on anything but the girth of his cock as her cunt spasmed around him.

When she eventually opened her eyes he was staring at her with a look of pure joyous wonder on his face.

“What?” She shrivelled under his gaze, feeling quite suddenly extremely self-conscious.

“Just trying to memorise that look on your face.” He shyly smirked.

She instantly felt the blush heat her cheeks as she exhaled a nervous chuckle.

“Where should I…?”

She stared blankly, almost forgetting she was still impaled on his yet to soften cock.

“Oh,” she realised, eyes wide, “inside is fine.”

Where to finish was not a question that usually needed to be asked, considering contraception was forced upon all mage women of childbearing age. The Chantry couldn't have irrefutable proof of the atrocities committed by their so-called _mage protectors_ getting out now, could they?

Rylen thrust into her, hard, the fingers of one hand digging firmly into the pale flesh of her thick thigh as he wound his other into her long hair to pull her into a desperate kiss. He stilled suddenly, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he fought to contain the sounds of his completion. Even Templar's had to be discreet, it would seem.

He rolled off of her and pulled her to him, wrapping an arm around her as she pressed her cheek to his chest. They lay in silence for a long time, she idly twirling her fingers through his chest hair as he did the same with her long tresses.

“What are you thinking?” Aila asked, her curiosity eventually getting the better of her.

He pressed his palm to the back of her head and pulled her closer to press a kiss to her forehead. “I'm just wondering how long it'll take for the Maker's holy smite to reach me.”

She lifted herself up on one elbow to look down at him. “Do you regret it?”

“Not even a little bit.” He immediately fired back, mimicking her pose to face her head-on. “I just don't know where we go from here.”

If only she could tell him he needn't worry, that they weren't even likely to see each other again. “A worry for another day.” She forced a smile, leaning in for a quick peck.

“Aye.” He sighed. “Aye, all right.”

He cupped her face as she straddled his waist, kissing her with such raw intensity that it made her heart flutter. Perhaps it was a blessing she hadn't realised her true feelings for him until now, they certainly wouldn't have been able to risk doing this again. Unconcerned with the inevitable repercussions, she had her fill - revelling in the breathy moans and raspy groans they drew from each other until Rylen eventually dozed off.

He'd miss the worst of it here, she decided, quietly dressing and tiptoeing out to assume her role. She thought about leaving a note, but she couldn't risk the wrong person finding it. So she took one last longing glance, sent a futile plea to a Maker she didn't believe in to protect him, then shoved her feelings to the back of her emotional vault and left to join her fellow mages.

* * *

**Art by @keiivoryart**

**<https://keiivoryart.tumblr.com/> **


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The circle falls, an entire decade passes and a long-awaited reunion occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied underage/rape/non-con, which is not described in any great detail.
> 
> Endless thanks to Kittimau (whose amazing works you should go check out immediately) for providing some much-needed assistance with this.  
> If it still sucks, I clearly didn't pay enough attention!

**9:31 Dragon**

Aila was comfortable with fire, so adept at controlling the element she was practically flame retardant, but it was _everywhere_. She'd failed to make it to her post on time, having overindulged in her onetime lover, but that didn't seem to have lessened the carnage. Her fellow Libertarians – who was she kidding, it was blatantly obvious by this point they were Resolusionists – had set fire not only to the templar quarters but to the apprentice wing too. She'd known from the beginning there'd be casualties, had accepted it as being unavoidable, but she never would have agreed to outright murder. She'd been led to believe the explosions were engineered to distract and confuse, not maim and kill! 

Her first enchanter, one of the very few people she actually trusted, had lied to her. And so very easily. If she hadn't been planning to ditch her fellow escapees before, she certainly would be now. The templar's who hadn't been burned to death in their sleep were trying to _save_ the apprentices of all things. She could have laughed at the irony of it all had she not be so preoccupied with trying to find a way out.

Her prayers were answered when she felt the tremor of a nearby explosion, soon followed by the sounds of crumbling stone – perhaps that of an exterior wall if she was lucky. It was worth investigating at the very least. She sprinted through a labyrinth of corridors towards the sound, eventually finding the source of the blast. The room was half engulfed in flame, but she could see freedom through the gaping cracks in the wall.

“Should have known you'd be involved in this,” a sly voice spoke from just behind her, one that sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine. _Ser Erroll_ , she confirmed as she twirled to face him, readying her mana for a fight.

“Rylen should have left you to die in the Chantry.” He snarled. “But instead he kept you as his pet.”

“Templar's like you may be the majority." She sneered. "But believe it or not, there are actually a few here who don't routinely rape teenagers.”

“Rape?” He released a sadistic chuckle. “I don't recall you asking me to stop.”

She took a deep calming breath, nostrils flaring as she slowly exhaled before speaking through gritted teeth, “because you could only get it up when I did, you impotent fuck.”

He lunged, but she managed to parry the blow with a well-timed mind blast. It was stronger than she intended, knocking him off his feet and throwing him at least six feet into the flames. The stench was disgusting, but it paled in comparison to the revulsion she felt in herself for pitying the sociopath. She dug her fingernails into the heels of her palms as she tried her best to tune out his very brief shrieks of agony, the fade-born flames so devastatingly hot that he died within seconds of hitting the ground.

With a wave of her hand, the fire reseeded just enough to reveal his blackened body, before another ill-timed voice spoke up. This one evoking an altogether different feeling.

“Aila, what have you done?” Rylen's horror was palpable.

She turned slowly to face him, palms up in supplication as she hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't be holding a sword to her throat. “Rylen... please believe me when I tell you he deserved this.”

Rylen was dumbstruck, sword still blessedly sheathed, mouth gaping as he stared at the charred remains of the otherwise unidentifiable templar. “They'll give you the brand for this.”

She was almost too afraid to move. She knew Rylen was a dutiful soldier, and despite also now knowing that he cared for her she had no idea how this was going to play out. “They can't if I'm not here.”

He seemed to regain some of his senses then, and her heart skipped a beat when his hand moved to the pommel of his sword. “I can't just let you walk out of here.”

She held her head up high, determined despite the nervous twitch of her fingers. “Then you're going to have to kill me because I refuse to spend another day living in this hell.”

“Is your life here truly so terrible that you would resort to murder?”

“Yes.” Her voice cracked, eyes brimming with angry tears. “Rylen, do you have any idea what really goes on here? How many cocks I've been forced to suck over the years? How many times I have been raped by people who have sworn _literal_ oaths to protect me?”

She'd never told him about any of that. Never wanted him to think of her that way. She was ashamed. There was absolutely nothing she could have done about it, and yet shame was the only thing she felt. She'd tried to fight at first, of course she had. But as soon as she realised it was futile to resist, that it was over so much quicker if she just let it happen, she stopped fighting. And that just made her shame so much greater.

Rylen's face paled at her confession. “W-why didn't you tell me?”

“Because.” She blinked a tear from each eye. “I didn't want you to look at me the way you are now.”

“You should have told me, Aila. I could have helped you – I _would_ have helped you.”

“How! _You_ are the odd one out here, Rylen. Assuming you could have even convinced the Knight-Commander to believe me, it was far more likely to have resulted in _you_ being transferred - and I didn't want that to happen. Besides, it wasn't as bad after... that day you found me in the chantry.” Her failed suicide attempt had been a blessing in disguise - _too unstable_ one of the templar's had told her, though she suspected her transitioning from a child to a woman had more to do with it.

“But you were only sixteen...”

“And yet my innocence was already long gone.” _You poor, naive fool._

He glanced again at the charred remains of his brother in arms, though this time with an intense antipathy. “Who is that?”

“Erroll.” She answered without hesitation, knowing the two of them hadn't exactly been friends.

“Was he the only one?”

She gave a bitter snort.

“Who?” He demanded.

“It doesn't matter -”

“Who!?”

She huffed out a tired breath. “Conall, Kester, Lyle, Sinclair... shall I go on?”

"Maker." He relinquished his grip on his sword to drag his hand down his face. “Did what just happened between us - did I make you feel as though you didn't have a choice?"

“No!” She passionately protested, striding towards him without hesitation to take both of his hands in hers. “Rylen, I wanted that to happen just as much as you did - more, perhaps.”

He gripped her hands tighter. “Then please don't do this. I promise I will never allow another templar to lay so much as a finger on you.”

“I can't stay, not after this, you know that.” Her next thought was almost definitely a mistake, and yet she put it into action anyway.

“What's this?” He asked as she pressed her stolen phylactery into his palm. She'd liberated it months ago in preparation for this day. She should have destroyed it immediately, but a quiet voice in the back of her mind had told her not to.

“Come find me if you ever tire of being a templar.” She turned to leave but he refused to let her go, spinning her back around and pulling her tightly to him. He stared at her face for all of three seconds before crushing his lips to hers, stealing the breath from her lungs and sapping the strength from every joint in her body.

Eventually, her survival instincts kicked back in and with two hands on his chest, she decisively pushed him away. She walked backwards away from him as slowly as she dared, committing the image of him to memory. She saw the panic in his eyes as she neared the scorching flames, but just as he opened his mouth to warn her she channelled her mana and the fire distorted around her, clearing a spherical path free from harm.

“I'll never forget you,” she whispered, right before allowing the curtain of fire to fall.

**9:41 Dragon**

_I'll never forget you_.

Aila's parting words still echoed in his mind, his reduced lyrium rations having resulted in some pretty vivid dreams from that night – both good and terrible. For ten long years, he'd held on to her phylactery like it was some priceless treasure. And though he'd never activated the locater enchantment to actually find her, he did check it frequently to ensure it still worked – taking comfort in the knowledge that she was still alive... somewhere.

He strolled the battlements of Griffon Wing Keep, taking stock of the improvements so far and those yet to be completed. He was impressed with what they had achieved in so little time, the aid of the mage's being invaluable, and had said as much in his last report to Cullen. Only a small number of the conscripted former rebels had been sent from Skyhold - as a test - to help with reconstruction. And since their work was sound and there had been only a couple of minor incidents between them and the few other former templars present, the Inquisition Commander had agreed to send a few more.

It was the dull throb in his temples rather than the waning sun that told him it was time for his next dose, so he handed command over to his second and retired to his quarters. It was a dingy little room with just a few narrow slits for windows, but it had a bed and was far away enough from the ruckus and sweltering heat upstairs that he was able to get a decent nights kip. Too busy rummaging through his pockets in search of his room key, he didn't notice the blond woman standing outside his room when he rounded the corner.

“Nice hat.”

_That voice._

Suddenly he was back in Starkhaven's circle, peering into wide blue eyes as the sounds of her tinkling laughter enveloped him. An entire decade had passed since he'd last heard that voice, but he was certain who it belonged to. He lifted his head slowly, afraid that any sudden movements might wake him from whatever dream this was.

“Aila?” he rasped, the shock of seeing her hampering the use of his vocal cords.

“Hey, Ry,” she casually greeted, though the telltale twitch of her fingers that he knew so well instantly betrayed her nerves.

Time stood still as he slowly approached her, his gaze flitting rapidly between her plump, smiling lips and wide, upturned eyes that he'd once likened to lyrium – both for their colour and their power to ensnare. She had a scar along her jaw that hadn't been there before, healed but still pink, and another beside her right eye that was partially hidden beneath a wavy lock of hair.

“Are you really here?” he breathed in disbelief.

She nodded, still smiling brightly. “I was conscripted in Redcliffe,” she began, tilting her head higher to maintain eye contact as he stepped closer, “I volunteered to come here when I heard you were –“

He pulled her to him with a firm hand on the back of her neck, crushing his lips to hers as he poured ten years of unrequited longing into a kiss he'd been dreaming of for a decade.

“- in command,” she finished when he eventually released her, “well, that was a much warmer welcome than I was expecting.”

He stared dumbly at her, certain that when he opened his eyes he would have found himself alone in bed, staring up at the ceiling. But it seemed she really was there... and he really had just kissed her.

“Are we going to stand here all day or are you going to invite me in?” she sassily prompted after a long stretch of awkward staring.

“Age hasn't improved your patience, I see,” he japed, finally regaining his senses before turning from her to unlock his door.

He motioned for her to enter first, never taking his eyes off her as she took a seat on the stool by his desk. He stared at her for a long moment, trying valiantly not to completely devour her with his eyes, before resuming the pressing task of preparing his lyrium. Aila sat quietly, patiently waiting as he knocked back the tiny vial. A million questions were swimming around in his brain, but he had no clue where to begin. He startled slightly when her hand touched his shoulder, having been too caught up in his own thoughts to notice her approach.

“You never came looking for me.” It was a question as much as a statement.

He'd seriously considered branching off from the rest of the search party tasked with recovering those who had escaped the circle back in Starkhaven, fantasising about a life with her in the _real world_. But they'd need coin and a place to stay... and lyrium. So, instead, he accepted his relocation to Kirkwall. He considered looking for her again when the Inquisition came calling and the order fell, but he'd convinced himself she would have been married with an army of children by that point. She'd always been great with the youngest of the mages back in the Circle, it wasn't hard to picture her with a horde of her own.

He suddenly realised she was still waiting for him to speak, but he simply didn't know what to say. And she clearly interpreted it as her cue to leave.

“This was a stupid idea, I shouldn't have come -” She turned to leave but he reached out and grasped her hand, pulling her back towards him until their bodies softly collided.

She was just as warm as he remembered, an effect of her fire magic or so he'd always assumed. Standing as close as they were he could see that the years had been kind to her, her youthful eyes distinctly lacking any discernible laugh lines... unlike his own. She still smelled of lavender and her pale pink lips looked as soft and inviting as ever. _Maker_ , he wanted to kiss her again.

“What happened here?” he asked, by way of distraction, touching his index finger to the small scar by her eye.

She licked her lips, the action drawing his attention away from the clearly years old injury. “Narrowly avoided a templar's arrow.”

“And here?” he questioned, sliding the pad of his thumb along the more recent scar that ran almost the full length of her jawline.

“Abomination,” she whispered, her cleavage bulging enticingly with each deep expansion of her lungs.

He swept her hair behind her ear, knuckles lingering on the angle of her jaw before unfurling his fingers and sliding them around the back of her neck. His attention fell from her wide hypnotic eyes to her full lips, slightly parted in what he prayed was an invitation. He guided her to him with a little pressure on the nape of her neck, almost hesitantly pressing his lips to hers.

Aila instantly responded, sliding her hands from his armoured chest to the heated skin of his neck, encouragingly returning his kiss with a desperation that outmatched even his own.

“I can't tell you-how many times-I've imagined this-moment” she spoke between greedy kisses, “I prayed you'd-still feel as-I do.”

“And how is that?” he panted, breaking away from her lips to trail a path down her neck.

“Like I left a piece of myself behind that night... and now I'm finally whole again.”

But that was _exactly_ how it felt. How was it possible for such feelings to deepen over the years without a single second of contact? He took her face in his hands, peeling his lips from her alabaster flesh to look into her eyes. “I tried to forget you,” he honestly admitted, kissing her once on the lips for reassurance, "but you're right - I think you took a piece of me with you when you left."

She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him back down to her level as he moved his hands to rest on her rounded hips. It started slowly, neither of them wanting to push further than the other was ready for, but as time passed the intensity quickly grew from a gentle simmer to a raging inferno. When she gently bit his lip, he hoisted her on to the table behind her, furiously pulling up her skirt as she clumsily freed him from his trousers. Once unburdened, cock springing up to smack his naval, he hooked a finger into her smalls and pulled them to one side, exposing her to the urgent press of his purpling tip.

“Ye'r drookit,” he groaned as he coated himself in her slick.

“I'm what?” she breathlessly questioned, calling attention to his tendency to slip back into the Starkhaven vernacular whenever he was lost in a moment.

“You're soaking wet,” he clarified, darting his tongue out to taste the skin beneath her ear.

He gripped her hip with his free hand, engaging her in a desperate kiss as he promptly sank into her. She felt like heaven as she wrapped her legs around his hips to pull him closer, whimpering at the intensely snug fit as he slowly bottomed out. His memories clearly hadn't done her justice.

He moved both hands to her backside, eagerly pulling her right to the edge of the table until she was barley even sitting on it. She clung to him as he pawed at her thick thighs, running his hands along her pale skin to grasp her hips as he began to drive his pelvis into her with wild abandon, knocking over tinctures and dislodging scrolls in his haste.

As he was reminded of the way her maddeningly tight cunt felt around his undeniably generous girth, he prayed to Andraste for the strength to make this last – and for it not to be some cruel dream.

When she banged her head on the shelves behind her, he picked her up again and carried her over to his bed, sitting himself down on the edge so she could help with the removal of his armour and him with her robes. She deserved better than some quick fumble on a table, heck, she deserved better than his rickety bed... but he had to have her.

Finally unburdened of clothing, he picked her up again and flipped their positions, dropping her on her back and pressing himself lustfully on top of her. He'd never thought himself capable of bedding a mage before her, it was the most heinous crime a templar could commit, but being with her like this just felt so undeniably _right_.

He crushed his lips to hers, and there they remained until only her rapturous cries of pleasure could part them.

...

Nestled comfortably against the side of his hard body, held willingly captive by the weight of one strong arm as his free hand toyed with a lock of her hair, Aila was amazed by just how comfortably content she felt.

“I didn't intend for things to happen this fast,” she quietly confessed, slowly tracing the smattering of scars and bold lines of ink on his torso.

"But you _did_ intend for it to happen?" he playfully jested.

She gave his chest hair a chastising tug before answering sternly, "I assumed we'd talk more first.”

“Well, I'm free for the next few hours," he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "we can talk now if you like?"

But her superiors were bound to have noticed her absence by now. "I should really report back before someone thinks I've made a run for it.”

“I'll vouch for you,” he protested, holding her tighter when she attempted to move.

“And have everyone gossiping about the new girl getting preferential treatment for sleeping with the boss on her first day? I don't think that would be good for either of us.”

“I just got you back, lass,” he all but growled, rolling on top of her and pinning her beneath his Maker sculpted body, “and I'm not nearly finished with you, yet.”

How was it possible to miss something so intensely that you'd only experienced once before? And a decade ago, no less. “Tempting as that sounds,” she shoved him with just enough force to roll him back to his previous position, “I really think we should talk before we do _that_ again.”

“Aye, alright,” he relented, propping himself up on one elbow, “I'm listening.”

She matched his pose, propping herself up to face him as she began her tale; starting with how she ended up in Markham. She'd been lucky enough to encounter a travelling merchant on the road just outside of Starkhaven who'd taken pity on her. She'd claimed to have been running from an abusive husband, so, rather chivalrously, he was only too happy to offer aid. Even kept her fed and watered until they reached the city.

She'd slept rough while she searched for work, but it wasn't until she was about half a day away from starvation that she found herself stumbling into the local whore house seeking employment... but when it came down to the _nitty-gritty,_ she just couldn't go through with it. The madame took pity on her though, at first she'd thought her a kind sort, but it turned out the older woman had guessed she was a mage and intended to exploit her. In return for lodgings, food and a _very_ small amount of coin, she'd patch the girls up whenever the clients got too rough, make sure they didn't get pregnant and... deal with it whenever they did.

That first year in Markham had felt more like five, and just as soon as she'd saved up enough to start somewhere fresh she'd travelled to Ostwick and bartered passage on a ship to Gwaren. She'd wanted to put as much distance between herself and the Free Marches as she possibly could.

“So, you were living in Gwaren before the uprising?” 

She shook her head. “I spent barely a day there. I met someone who -”

“A lover?” he rashly interrupted.

“No.” She chuckled at his obvious display of jealousy. “Haven't had many of those.” Just two, in fact. It had taken her several years to even start masturbating again.

“No, he was a friend. He somehow recognised that we were the same and claimed there were others like us in South Reach. People who could help us. And that it would be much less suspicious if we pretended to be husband and wife, as opposed to travelling alone. So I took a leap of faith - and it paid off.”

“The people my friend spoke of, the ones he said would help us, turned out to be the _Mages' Collective_. They had an apothecary store that was a front for the rest of their _goings-on_... and I ran it."

“So, how did you end up in Redcliffe?” 

“My friend." She sighed. "He said it was our duty... and I foolishly listened.” She'd thought it a huge mistake at the time, but now that it had led her back to Rylen... she wasn't so sure.

“Did he come here with you?”

“No.” Fucking idiot that he turned out to be. “He's dead.”

He placed his hand atop hers resting on the thin mattress between them. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be," she spoke through gritted teeth, vaguely motioning to the scar along her jawline, "he's the one who gave me this.”

“I thought you said an abomina - ah." He paused, realising the truth of it. "Right.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she tried not to think of that awful day. There'd been so many abominations when Fiona had announced her plans to pledge them all the to service of Tevinter. It was not a decision well received - neither was it well handled by those who felt blood magic would bring them anything other than an abrupt end.

“You had a good life, then?" Rylen thankfully changed the subject, "in South Reach, I mean.”

She nodded. “I managed to avoid getting into trouble... for the most part.”

“Do you think you'll go back?”

“I hadn't really thought about it." She licked her lips, acutely aware of his gaze lingering on them whenever she spoke. "For all I know, once this war is over I'll be corralled back into imprisonment with the rest of my kind.”

“I won't let that happen,” his swift proclamation was unexpected... and unfeasible.

“Rylen, I already asked you to turn a blind eye once. I couldn't ask you to do that again."

"No, you don't understand. Even if the circles do reform I'll not be going back. I'm no longer a Templar."

"You can't just quite the templar's, Ry. You'll be needing a new source of lyrium when the Inquisition stops providing it."

"No, actually... I won't." He scratched the back of his neck, looking suddenly very sheepish. "I'm, uh - I'm coming off it."

"What?" Surely she'd misheard him. "You're not actually serious?"

"I've already been on half rations for a few weeks -"

" _Why?_ " she loudly interrupted, her heart thundering in her chest as she considered the implications he clearly hadn't, "you do understand the withdrawal could kill you?"

"I'm not alone," he attempted to reassure her, "a friend of mine has been off it for months now."

"And has he lost his mind yet?" she snapped, probably looking a little insane with her eyes as wide as they were.

Completely ignoring her obvious concern for his wellbeing, he decided to tease, "you worried about me, lass?"

"Of course I'm fucking worried!" She didn't use the _F_ word often, so when she did it packed a punch.

He smiled, slowly reaching towards her to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. "I love you, too."

Heat instantly coursed through her veins, as though someone had lit a fire inside her chest. Her nostrils flared with the effort it took to control her breathing, eyes locked on to his without actually seeing him as her mind drifted. There was no way in Thedas he'd just told her he loved her. Maybe he was joking? His humour was often inappropriate... but never _cruel_. She startled slightly when he took her hand in his, drawing her attention back to the stark sincerity in his eyes.

"Aila, I've loved you for more than fifteen years." He added, elevating the already present heat in her veins enough to make her hands clammy. “I've had a lot of time to think about it, trying to pinpoint when it was that my feelings for you changed, and I realised it was the first time I made you laugh. You were just so bloody unhappy in the beginning, but after that first time... I _craved_ that sound. It became a daily ritual for me, and any day I didn't hear it at least once was considered a complete and utter failure.”

She exhaled a long, shaky breath as she stared wordlessly at his warm, honest smile, the fury she'd only recently felt over his self-harming behaviour now eclipsed by an altogether different feeling. She willed herself to react, but she'd lost all control over herself. She hadn't even realised she was crying until he wiped the evidence from her cheek. 

"Tell me you don't feel the same," he dared, an almost boastful smirk on his face.

"I..." She couldn't. But surely it was too soon for such feelings? Yes, they'd met almost twenty years ago, but they'd been apart for more than half of that.

"I can't." She covered her mouth with her hand, almost too afraid to actually say it aloud. "I love you, too." And she truly did. She loved him with every fibre of her being. With hindsight, she was able to see that she'd loved him for almost as long as she'd know him. And, rather impossibly, that love had only grown whilst they were apart.

Rylen's roguishly handsome smirk widened into a full-blown toothy grin. “Then I'm never letting you go again.”

“You can't promise that, Rylen -”

“Marry me.”

“Pardon!” She choked, eyes widening in shock. Her rapidly beating heart felt as though it were trying to burst through her ribcage like some blighted parasite.

“I know it seems impulsive, but this feels _right_." He grasped her other hand, holding them both in his and re-manoeuvred them both into a sitting position. “I have spent the last ten years of my life missing you. Please don't make me do that again.”

She quickly leashed her mana when the temperature of the room shot up several degrees. “You do realise that little over an hour ago you had no idea I was even here?"

"I'm aware of that." He chuckled. "But I don't want to spend another day without you by my side. I want you to be my wife, Aila. I want you to be the mother of my children and I want us to grow old together.”

Her skin was heating again, spreading outwards from the centre of her chest. “Would the Chantry even allow it?” Of course they wouldn't, why even bother asking!

“Piss on the Chantry!" Rylen exclaimed, "will you marry me or no?”

“You're mad." She shook her head, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. "You're actually mad.”

“We've a revered mother on-site, helping to set up a chantry. I'm sure I could convince her to perform the ceremony.”

“You want to get married _now?!"_ Was he trying to give her a heart attack! The harsh rise and fall of her chest made it look as though her lungs had somehow doubled in size.

“Why wait?”

“Rylen, this is insane!”

“Is it? Because I think wanting to pledge myself to the woman I love is the sanest decision I've ever made.”

There was an irrefutable allure to his offer. She'd never allowed herself to so much as fantasise about someday being a wife. Certainly not a mother. But hearing such a request from him just made it all seem so... possible.

“Alright." She shrugged, fooling nobody with her attempt at nonchalance. "Why not.”

After rapidly dressing, Rylen had immediately dragged her through the keep in search of the revered mother. She'd taken some convincing, but the former templar could be very persuasive - his roguish charm and natural charisma apparently irresistible to even The Maker's most devout of servants. Standing hand-in-hand, out of breath and slightly dishevelled, they recited the words then sealed it with a kiss. A very long and enthusiastic kiss. A kiss that was decisively ended by the clearing of a throat.

"Get out of here you two," the revered mother humorously scolded, "I'd like to return to my bed now if you don't mind."

The ceremony wasn't intended to be a secret, it had just happened so quickly that none other than the revered mother were even aware until after the fact. But being carried back to the captains quarters, bridal style, was clearly announcement enough as not a soul dared bother them for the rest of the night.

“Did we really just do that?” she asked, both of them still giddy as a pair of mabari pups as they hurriedly undressed each other. Again.

“Aye, I believe we did.” Rylen chuckled, the deep cadence sending a shiver down her spine and making her nipples harden.

She pushed him down on to the stool by his desk as soon as they were both naked, climbing on top and swiftly engulfing him in his entirety. She was so insanely desperate for this that it was almost impossible to believe her sex drive had been nearly non-existent for the past ten years. 

No. It wasn't _this_ she was desperate for... it was him.

The drag of his rough, calloused hands on her back made her skin tingle. She indulged one of her oldest impulses and slid her fingers into his hair, kissing him deeply as she slowly ground herself against him. With each pass of her fingers through his incredibly soft mane, she unearthed the scent of sandalwood. A scent that had always reminded her of him, and the very reason she'd always kept a stockpile in the apothecary.

“I forgot to ask earlier.” Rylen groaned, trailing a path from her lips down to her collar bone. “If you have a supply of witherstalk with you or...?”

“I haven't used it in a long time,” she admitted, “but I'm sure I could procure some -”

“Don't,” he immediately interrupted, seating himself deep then holding her still.

“Don't?” she questioned, “but without it, I might -”

“Aye, I know,” he interrupted, a conspiratorial grin stretched across his darkly handsome face.

She studied his expression, unsure if he was joking or if this was, in fact, another crazy impulse. “You're not actually suggesting that after ten years apart, we not only get married but also attempt to start a family? You don't think we should space that out over more than a single day?”

He pulled out slightly then thrust back upwards, making her bounce once on his cock. “I'm four years off forty, lass. I don't want to waste another second taking things slowly with you.”

The warmth in her chest was back, and to such a degree she thought she might spontaneously combust at any moment. What he was suggesting was just _the most_ absurd thing. And yet...

“I mean, of course, we don't have to if you don't want -”

“Shh,” she silenced him with a finger to his lips, surging forwards to bestow a telling kiss that rendered any verbal response redundant.

He held her close, one hand cupping the back of her shoulder and the other resting on the swell of her arse. They kissed almost constantly as she undulated above him, both hands fisted in his thick chestnut waves. She took possession of him and he of her, both covered in a sheen of sweat, breathlessly moaning as they melded their bodies together. She cried out his name when they climaxed as one, pressing her forehead to his as she rode out the little aftershocks of delight, welcoming the rapid invasion of his seed with a wistful smile on her face.

Maker willing they would both survive these uncertain times. But if not... she knew she'd at least die happy.

**Epilogue**

“Baen, please stop pulling your sister's hair.” Aila pleaded as she began to slice the bread she'd baked the previous night.

Three and four-year-old siblings who were forever at war were hardly the best help when it came to preparing breakfast, which was why she usually did this well in advance. But that morning, having awakened to an unusually silent home and the insistent press of her husband's hard cock against the small of her back, she'd insisted they make the most of one another before they had yet another baby to contend with.

Another sharp cry from the squabbling siblings finally forced her to intervene. “Earie! Give your brother back his Griffon, right this second!”

Her daughter blessedly obeyed and as she finished setting the table for breakfast Rylen appeared with Moira in his arms. The impeccably well-behaved toddler was still half asleep, wispy waves sticking up in every direction. He set her down in her highchair then sidled up to his wife from behind.

“I swear you get more beautiful every single day.” Rylen purred in her ear, resting his chin on her shoulder as he slid his hands around her waist and on to her swollen stomach.

In just five short years they'd welcomed three children into this strange new world, and were just days away from meeting their fourth.

Baen was the first, conceived within days of their reunion. He was the double of his father in every way - cheeky little bugger that he was - with his chestnut waves, tan skin and pale blue eyes.

Earie came next, almost exactly twelve months after her brother, their birthdays falling within a week of each other. She was a perfect blend of both parents: light-brown hair, pale skin, blue eyes - brighter than her fathers though not quite so much as her mothers. She was headstrong to a fault, always questioning every little thing her parents asked of her. 

Moria, the youngest of the three, didn't look much like her mother or her father with her dark-blond hair and green eyes. She was born with an old soul, had cried only a handful of times in her twelve months of life, and her mage mother was almost certain she had powerful magic lying dormant within her.

Rylen eventually managed to wean himself off lyrium completely. It wasn't easy, but with the aid of his ever-present wife, they got through it together. He was thankfully over the worst of the withdrawal before their first child was born, and better still when they found out they were expecting their second. By the time their third came along, the nightmares that once plagued him were then so rare that he'd all but forgotten them.

When Rylen was released from his service to the Inquisition, he'd suggested they start their life together in South Reach where they eventually managed to scrape enough coin together to buy a smallholding. They had a few chickens and the odd goat or two, but it was their abundance of forever-perfect crops - as if somehow by magic - that kept food in their bellies and coin in their pockets. Rylen also dabbled in Woodland management and Aila made soaps and fragrances, which regularly proved very popular at the Denerim market.

With three children under the age of four and another on the way, life was pretty hectic. But after ten years of longing and missed opportunities, they wouldn't change a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope this sated some mutual Rylen thirst.
> 
> Note: In this universe, Leliana became Divine and declared an end to the circle of magi, finally making it possible for Aila & Rylen to have their happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are life.


End file.
